


a matter of grave importance

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Happy Ending, M/M, Minor Angst, Misunderstandings, This is basically mostly going to be johnlock, and then a little plot, and then back to johnlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-01-05 12:50:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1094059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Yes, he is a clever one, isn’t he?” Moriarty cooed, trying to move closer. Both the King and the Queen stepped up, blocking their son from his view.  “I’ll let you have him for now,” Moriarty said, his tone turning deadly. “But by the time he comes of age, I’ll have made him mine.  I bet his screams will be delicious before I kill him.”</p><p>“I’d reconsider making threats like that in my palace.  Now leave, or you'll be forced to do so.  We don’t negotiate with kidnappers.”</p><p>Moriarty gave a cold, shrill laugh at that.  “Oh, no, you misunderstand me.  I don’t intend to kidnap him.” He smirked at her. “No, Your Majesty. He’ll come with me willingly.”</p><p>(Or the Johnlock fairy-tale AU with a hint of the above plot.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was originally written for this prompt: Fairy-tale AU - Person A has been living in seclusion, not realizing they were royalty. One day they are walking around and meet the petty thief, Person B. Person B is instantly smitten but Person A isn’t so sure. Especially when Person A meets the handsome prince, Person C.
> 
> But it's kind of changed since then, so now it's just a general fairy-tale AU that will be only Johnlock, basically, with a little bit of plot in there somewhere.
> 
> Also, if you've read this fic before, I highly recommend rereading the chapters I'm posting, because they're updated and highly edited versions of the original draft of this story that I started with. The basic plot is the same, but there's some subtle differences in there now.

“Do we really need to throw this party?” William Holmes, the first, asked his wife.  They were in the midst of planning out where to seat the guests for that evening.  He knew it was a bit late to cancel the whole event, but he was sure that his wife would be able to make it happen if necessary.

Violet Holmes smiled fondly over at her husband.  “I know you don’t like it, but you know how important this is for us.”  She looked around the dining hall where all the tables had been decorated impressively for the evening.  “Everyone of importance will be here.”  A shade of guilt crept into her features. “Granted, our son’s birthday celebration doesn’t seem like the most tasteful time to prove to these people that we consider them allies, but it’s convenient timing.” She rubbed her husband’s arm. “I know you don’t like it, but, well, that’s politics, and you are the king, after all.”

William gave a little laugh at that. “I may be the king, but I think we all know who’s really running this kingdom.”

Violet smiled modestly but made no move to contradict her husband.  It was true that his status as king did not necessarily mean that he controlled any aspect of the kingdom.  In actuality, it was the Queen who organised everything.  The Kingdom of Parthenia was, in essence, her child that she had nurtured and cared for since taking power with her husband more than a decade prior. And Parthenia had always been good to her in return.  Of course, that was where the kingdom differed from her actual children. 

“Mummy!”

Ah, speaking of.

The Queen held out her arms to catch the twelve-year-old as he sped into the room.  “Mycroft,” she said, “what has Mummy told you about running through the palace?”

Mycroft huffed and ducked his head. “Not to do it,” he muttered. He looked back up at his mother. “But I had to come find you to tell you that William’s set fire to kitchens again.”

The King barely refrained from laughing at that. Little William, the second, had always been a bit of trouble, young as he was, but William I never failed to get amusement out of his namesake.

The Queen, on the other hand, was not amused.  “William Sherlock Scott Holmes!” she shouted, storming off in the direction of the kitchens. “I’ll not have you set fire to the palace hours before your party is set to begin.”

The King laughed as his wife’s voice, followed by whinging from his youngest son, carried back to the dining hall.

And thus was life of Parthenia’s royal family.

_________________________

  
By sundown, the party was in full swing. Everyone of importance was there. Representatives from neighbouring kingdoms and nobility from their own; there were even some other children there that William II had expressed a fondness for. 

Violet watched with sad eyes as her youngest son tried to talk to the children.  His animated features indicated that he was discussing something he’d read in one of his storybooks about pirates, as that had been his most recent obsession.  The other children grew bored and moved away, and the little prince was left staring at the space where they’d been moments before.  He approached the group of children once more, but they were huddled in a tight circle and refused to acknowledge him.

The King appeared at her side. “A drink for my queen,” he said, offering out a glass of champagne. 

Violet smiled faintly and accepted the drink with a brief word of thanks.

“What’s gotten you so upset?” the King asked, concern etched in his features.

The Queen sighed and gestured over toward the children they’d invited, all of whom were occupying themselves in a corner of the room.  Little William stood several steps away from them now, staring at them with wide eyes. “He’s lonely,” she said. “We’re the rulers of the most powerful kingdom in this part of the world.”

“Save for Aranea,” the King pointed out.

The Queen waved a dismissive hand through the air.  “We’re the rulers of the most powerful kingdom in this area, save for Aranea.  How is it possible that we’ve let our son become so terribly lonely?”

“He’s fine,” William, Sr., argued in an attempt to console his wife.  When it became clear that Violet didn’t believe him, he sighed and amended, “Well, perhaps he’s not completely fine.  But after tonight, we can start trying to socialise him more with other children his age.”  He rubbed the Queen’s arm soothingly.  “It will all be all right.  Tonight, worry about the kingdom.  Tomorrow you can worry about our son.”

Violet took a moment to look over at her husband.  “When did you become the reasonable one?” she asked, a small, genuine smile on her lips.

The King smiled in return. “Go on,” he said, ushering her forward into the centre of the room.  “You’ve got diplomats to win over.”

The Queen nodded, recalling that she did in fact have a job she was meant to be doing that evening, and made her way over to some of the guests.  It grew boring after the first few guests.  She gave them all the same speech, treated them all with the same mixture of deference and gentle persuasion. 

“We’ve recently gotten word that Aranea has turned to dark magic to keep its ruling family in power,” she would say with a grimace and a shake of her head.  “James Moriarty—he’s the king there, you know—well, he’s always resented us. He sees us a competition, I think. Oh, so you have heard of him? Yes, there are some nasty rumours going around about how he’s stayed in power for all these years. Eternal youth? Really?  I hadn’t heard such a thing, but it would certainly make sense. I haven’t seen him age a day since his coronation.  Well, you know, there are other rumours about him—rumours that he might attempt to start a war with Parthenia.  Oh, thank you. Your support in that event would mean so much.”

The Queen had grown tired of smiling politely hours ago, but she knew that she had to keep up appearances. If Aranea truly did wage war against their kingdom, they would need all the allies they could get.

But, at the same time, she supposed that she should be spending some time with her youngest son, as it was his birthday celebration, after all.  Five years old, and he was already almost as clever as his brother. She looked around the room, searching for young William.  She caught sight of him in one corner, talking to a man crouching down beside him. As if sensing her gaze, the man turned his head in her direction, flashing her a venomous smile. The Queen’s blood seemed to freeze in her veins as utter panic gripped her.  The man she had been warning her guests about, the man she had been terrified of going to war with, was now speaking to her five-year-old son. Violet moved over toward them as quickly as she could without running. 

“William, honey, come to Mummy now,” she said once she was in earshot.  Her son was at her side immediately.

“Oh, come now,” the King of Aranea said, standing from his crouched position.  “I was only talking to the boy.  He’s very clever for his age.”  Jim Moriarty looked young, barely thirty, and the Queen strongly suspected that the rumours about his eternal youth had been correct.

Violet stared him down, making a few covert gestures with one hand to signal to her husband that there was trouble. “I don’t remember sending you an invitation.” 

“I was hoping it had simply gotten lost in transit,” Moriarty said, a manic glint in his eyes. “But I can see now that it was deliberate.”

The Queen was unapologetic. “We can’t abide by practitioners of dark magic in this kingdom.”

Moriarty cocked his head to the side, his smile sliding into something more sinister.  “I don’t like being turned away.  Shame on you, Your Majesty.  You should really know better than that.”

William, Sr., approached with four guards. He stood by his wife, the guards flanking them.  He dropped one hand down onto his son’s shoulder, keeping him there.  Around them, the partygoers were starting to notice that something was amiss, and their conversations had grown more hushed.

“Are you threatening my wife?” the King asked, a rare note of danger entering into his voice. 

Moriarty laughed gleefully and clapped his hands together.  “Not your wife, no.” His reptilian eyes flicked down toward the young prince.

“If you lay a hand on my son, we will not hesitate to wage war with Aranea,” Violet warned.   

“He’s not going to hurt me right now, Mummy,” little William said wisely, tugging at his mother’s dress. “There are too many people around. Everyone knows not to hurt someone with this many witnesses.”

The Queen shut her eyes for a moment, hand tightening on William’s shoulder.  “That’s right, sweetheart.  How very clever you are.”  Her voice was tinged with sadness, with worry.

“Yes, he _is_ a clever one, isn’t he?” Moriarty cooed, trying to move closer. Both the King and the Queen stepped up, blocking their son from his view.  Moriarty did not like this.  “I’ll let you have him for now,” Moriarty said, his tone turning deadly. “But by the time he comes of age, I’ll have made him mine.  I bet his screams will be _delicious_ before I kill him.”

The eyes of all the guests were on them now.  A few scattered gasps followed Moriarty’s threat, but for the most part, everyone seemed too terrified to speak, as if worried that they would be targeted next.

The young prince was close to tears and clung onto his mother’s dress, barely daring to peek around it to watch the man who intended to kill him.  “You can’t let him do that, Mummy,” he said, his little voice thick with fear. “Mummy, please don’t let him take me.”

“We won’t,” the Queen assured her son, voice like steel.  Her expression turned hard and unforgiving.  “I’d reconsider making threats like that in my palace.  Now leave, or we’ll have to force you to do so.  We don’t negotiate with kidnappers.”

Moriarty gave a cold, shrill laugh at that.  “Oh, no, you misunderstand me.  I don’t intend to kidnap him.” He smirked at her. “No, Your Majesty. He’ll come with me willingly.”

The Queen had evidently had enough of this.  “Seize him,” she commanded, and the guards surged forward.  There was a sickening _crack_ , as of bone breaking, and the lights went out.  By the time the dining hall was lit once more, Moriarty had vanished from sight. The King commanded the bulk of the guards to search the entire palace, to find the man that had dared to threaten the prince’s life.  Four guards remained behind, instructed not to leave little William’s side.  The boy was practically in tears, clearly affected by what the threat against him. 

When the guards could find no trace of Aranea’s king, William I and Violet eventually decided that they needed to take drastic measures in order to protect their son. Moriarty was powerful, and his magic knew no bounds.  Their son wasn’t safe as long as he was in the palace.  Moriarty had gotten in so easily that evening, after all. What would stop him from coming back later to steal William away and do unspeakable things to him?   No, if Moriarty knew where he was, the boy was doomed.

Long after the guests had all been sent home, the young prince himself was sent off.  William II would now be called by his second name, Sherlock, in an attempt to disguise his identity further.  He would grow up knowing nothing, and he would only be able to return once the danger had passed.  He was to be entrusted into the care of his nanny, Mrs. Hudson.  Not even the King and Queen knew where Mrs. Hudson would take him.

So while Parthenia’s rulers lost a prince, Sherlock lost his identity, his family, his home, but he gained a chance to live.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be trying to update this every week, so keep an eye out for a new chapter next Friday! Also feel free to give me feedback in the comments! I really appreciate hearing from you guys what you think.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock meets John.

Sherlock grew up with only faint memories of his past. He didn’t even know his own surname, and Mrs. Hudson certainly didn’t help him piece things together. She always told him that he would be a danger to himself if he ever knew his own story. He had briefly considered the possibility that Mrs. Hudson had kidnapped him, but he had dismissed the idea. When he was still very young, he had called Mrs. Hudson “Mummy” just to try it out. She had raised him, after all. She scolded him and told him that he had real parents out there who would be devastated if he tried replacing them. A kidnapper surely wouldn’t be so concerned about him remembering his real parents.

All he really knew was that he had grown up wealthy but had been sequestered in the forest for his own safety when he was very young.  Safety was boring, he soon discovered.  At twenty years old, he had explored and memorised as much of the forest as Mrs. Hudson would allow. She always wanted him to stay within sight of their little cottage, and she would become terribly upset if he ever strayed.  Sherlock hated when Mrs. Hudson was upset with him, as it made their living situation much more difficult.

Mere months before Sherlock’s twenty-first birthday, Mrs. Hudson began to go out into one of the closest towns “to talk to some people, dear, think nothing of it.”  Sherlock wasn’t entirely sure what she was doing out there, but he suspected that she was partaking in some sort of covert meeting, as she always went at different times of the day, and judging by the directions he saw her leave, she was going to a different town each time. Love affair, perhaps? It seemed unlikely given her age, but it wasn’t entirely impossible to conceive.

So Sherlock was left alone for several hours during the day with strict instructions to stay inside the cottage.

“Don’t let anyone in,” Mrs. Hudson always warned him before she left.  “And don’t you dare go out.  I’ll know it if you have.”

Sherlock always rolled his eyes in response, because he knew better than to trust strangers, and he was certain that Mrs. Hudson would not know if he had been out, as he had gotten rather good at covering his tracks. 

It was on one such day that Sherlock finally decided to make good on his talent for stealth.  When Mrs. Hudson left for her secret meeting, Sherlock stole out of the cottage, taking care not to leave any trace that he had done so.

He took a small basket with him so that he might collect samples for one of his latest experiments while he was out. Mrs. Hudson never kept track of his experiments, so he could always convince her that he had already had the samples in his possession before that day.  She would never know that they were fresh. Experimenting was the one thing Sherlock had that allowed him some solace in his unbearably dull life. There was no one to talk to besides Mrs. Hudson, no one to show off to.  He hated it.  His scientific explorations were enough to at least maintain his interest for a time.

He wandered slightly farther into the forest around the cottage than he was usually permitted to. He still needed to remain close enough to hear if anyone was attempting to break in in his absence. Granted, there wasn’t really anyone out there to attempt a break-in in the first place, but he had been taught to be cautious, regardless. 

In his exploration of this new part of the forest, he came across a type of tree that he had never seen before. The trees growing around the cottage all had needle-like leaves, but this one had flat, broad ones. Intrigued, he decided that this might be an ideal specimen for his latest experiment, as he had never conducted one involving this particular type of leaf.  The leaves weren’t particularly low-hanging, seeming to appear at just over two and a half metres, so he would have to climb a bit in order to retrieve one.  That was no matter, though. Sherlock had been climbing trees his whole life.  He set his basket down and worked his way up to the lowest branch.  He pulled himself onto it so that he could sit comfortably while attempting to decide which cluster of leaves to take back down with him.

Before Sherlock even had the chance to begin climbing back down, he heard a noise. Wariness of strangers had been ingrained in him after spending most of his life with only Mrs. Hudson as company, so Sherlock remained silent, eager to see who or what was making the noise without any intention of getting close.

A man emerged from a nearby thicket of trees. Sherlock was so shocked at seeing another person that he nearly tumbled from the tree right then and there.  He had been kept in seclusion for the past fifteen years.  Seeing someone knew was thrilling, though he was still aware enough to recognise the danger that this man might pose.

The stranger was shorter than Sherlock, with fair hair and a rigid posture. His skin was tanned and weathered. His features were physically pleasing, overall, and Sherlock found himself wanting to map them out with his touch instead of merely his gaze. An odd feeling, that, but it was surely a normal response to meeting someone new.  The man’s clothes were ill-fitting and mismatched, clearly not his own. The shining, sturdy sword he carried at his left hip seemed misplaced among his shabby clothing. There was a sack over his shoulder, and Sherlock could just make out the glint of jewels beneath its flap. The sword as well as the sack’s contents seemed to be priced far higher than anything the man could have possibly afforded.  He must have stolen them, then.

Sherlock’s deductions were cut off by a startling _crack_ as the branch began to give way under his wait.  Sherlock muttered a few choice curses under his breath before his perch broke beneath him.

“What the—“ The thief looked up in an attempt to find the source of the noise, and he was soon too occupied to finish his sentence. He stepped forward instinctively and held his arms out so that Sherlock landed rather ungracefully in them.

Sherlock’s initial surprise at not being dead was overcome by the realisation that a criminal was now holding him. “Unhand me,” he demanded, squirming in his attempts to get away.

The thief muttered, “No need to thank me for saving your life.” He dropped Sherlock carelessly on the ground, perhaps as payback for being so ungrateful. “Where did you even come from?”

Sherlock stood and dusted himself off, shooting a glare over at the thief.  “I think that should be rather obvious,” he snapped, looking pointedly over at the tree. Thankfully the leaves he’d collected were still intact in his hand.  He picked up his basket and shoved them inside, fully prepared to just up and leave.

The thief was rolling his eyes when Sherlock glanced back over at him.  “Yeah, I could see that, but _why_ were you up in the tree?

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the man suspiciously.  “What does it matter to you?”  He couldn’t be sure that this thief didn’t pose a threat to him.  He was a criminal, after all.  Who was to say that a mere robber couldn’t turn to murder if the mood struck? As he ensured that he had all of his things, he said, “You know, if you’re trying to run from the authorities, your best bet isn’t to stop for a chat in the woods while you’re still carrying everything you’ve stolen.”

The thief gave Sherlock a hard, searching look. “How did you know about that?” There was a dangerous glint in his eye as he tried to determine whether or not he was being threatened. His hand went to the sword on his belt. Sherlock found that he liked this stranger much more now that he looked like that.  That look was interesting, equal parts dangerous and curious. 

Sherlock himself from his momentary lapse in focus and frowned.  “Well, it’s obvious,” he said, because it was. Was the thief toying with him? Because Sherlock was fairly certain that anyone with eyes would be able to read this man’s occupation from his appearance.

“It’s not obvious to me.” The thief drew his sword out and pointed it at Sherlock. “Now tell me how you know.”

Sherlock felt a thrill at the danger of the situation. He wasn’t going to allow himself to die by this man’s hand, but it was exciting all the same. “Your clothes,” he said. When the thief seemed to expect more of an explanation, Sherlock rolled his eyes but continued: “They don’t match. Your shirt is too small and your trousers are too big. Your shoes are clearly nicer than anything you could ever afford. I would understand if everything was the same size and was either all too large or all too small. That would indicate that the clothes had been passed down to you by either a family member or a friend. As it is, everything you’re wearing clearly came from different people. You stole it all, clearly. That sword in your hand is far nicer than anything else you own, leading me to believe that you were not its original owner. And the bag you have over your shoulder is also a fairly good indication of your profession. I can see jewels peeking out of the top. The man standing in front of me wouldn’t have the means to afford something like that legally. So, you must be a thief.”

Sherlock wasn’t sure why he had needed to say any of that when it was so painfully obvious. All the same, he wasn’t anticipating a particularly warm response from the stranger. It was entirely possible that the man would try to kill Sherlock for knowing that much about him. He braced himself to run at the first sign of trouble, confident that he could evade the criminal.

But the thief merely stared at him blankly for a moment before huffing out a laugh.  “That’s brilliant,” he said, and he re-sheathed his sword.

Sherlock’s head snapped up. He was surprised. That didn’t happen often. “What?” It was a stupid response, but his mind seemed to have stuttered to a halt at the strange words of praise.

“That’s brilliant,” the man repeated. “Quite extraordinary, actually.”

“I wasn’t expecting that response,” Sherlock admitted.

“What were you expecting, then?” The man looked curious.

“I thought you might chase me with that sword of yours. I would have escaped, of course. I still can escape.” Sherlock wanted this stranger to know that it would be useless trying to attack him.

The man actually laughed at that. Laughed. Sherlock started to wonder if this stranger had some sort of mental impairment. “I’m not going to chase you,” the thief promised, though a promise from a criminal didn’t seem very trustworthy. “Can you do that with everyone?”

Sherlock shrugged. He hadn’t thought that it was anything particularly special. When he tried deducing Mrs. Hudson, she always seemed remarkably unimpressed, so Sherlock had assumed that it wasn’t a particularly uncommon ability to have. “I should be able to. You’re the first person I’ve encountered in years, though, so I haven’t exactly gotten the opportunity to try it out on anyone else.”

The thief frowned. “What do you mean? How do you survive without encountering anyone else?”

Sherlock grew wary. “I live with someone else. She provides food and all other items necessary for survival.  I hardly need to encounter anyone beyond her.” After a moment, he added, “If you try to attack me, she _will_ notice.”

The thief raised his hands in the air as an indication that he was going to do no harm. “I’m not going to attack you. I thought I’d already made that clear. I’m just…interested.” He shrugged, looking surprisingly bashful about it all.

“Why are you interested?” Sherlock still wasn’t entirely sure that he trusted this man.

“Because you’re interesting,” was the simple reply.

In spite of himself, Sherlock was flattered. He bit his lip in an attempt to hold in his smile, though he doubted that he was very successful in doing that. He looked away before bringing his eyes back up to meet the thief’s. “What’s your name?”

“John.” Sherlock was almost certain that it was a false name. Even in his seclusion he was aware of just how common a name “John” was. For some reason, it seemed to suit the man, so Sherlock didn’t push the matter.

“I’m Sherlock.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sherlock.” And John—odd, confusing, surprising John—grinned at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So this story doesn't seem to have gained much of a following which is honestly all good. I did promise to post a chapter today, so here it is, but I'm not sure that I'll be continuing it at the moment. I've got a lot of other prompts I'm interested in writing about, so I think I'll probably switch my focus over to those and hopefully people will be more interested in those ones!

John had expected to make a quick run through Parthenia before heading on his merry way across the countryside. He’d already stolen his way through Aranea, but the king there gave him the creeps.  John wasn’t overly worried about getting caught, but he was certainly worried about getting caught by Moriarty.  There was no telling what the man would do to him. The royal family in Parthenia seemed much more pleasant, and, as it turned out, much wealthier as well. He’d steal for a few days—a week at most—and leave before anyone could put his actions together enough to catch him. The kingdom’s power stretched into the forest, so John had planned to be well into the mountains by then to avoid being pursued.

But things hadn’t exactly gone according to plan.  After all, there was no way John could have ever anticipated meeting someone like Sherlock.

After their first encounter, John managed to persuade Sherlock to meet him again the following afternoon at the same time. It was an ill-advised meeting for both of them, to be sure, but John couldn’t keep himself away, fascinated as he was.

John almost expected for Sherlock not to show up the next day. It wouldn’t have surprised him. He would have been a bit relieved, honestly. It would have saved him the trouble of worrying about getting caught because of this.  But, despite all expectations to the contrary, Sherlock was waiting for John in the little clearing where they had first met. A bitter expression was on the kid’s face, almost like he was having a sulk about something. John thought it was rather adorable.

“You’re late,” Sherlock accused.

John smiled in spite of the hostile tone used. “I got detained.” He approached Sherlock, stopping when there was a decent amount of space between the two of them. “But I’m here now.”

Sherlock’s arms were crossed, his expression pulled into a pout. “Yes, well, I can see that,” Sherlock said. “Is there any particular reason you wanted to meet with me again? Do try to make this interesting, won’t you?” Sherlock sounded far too imperious to just be some peasant living in the forest. He must have been quite spoiled as a child. His clothes looked rather plain—simple and beige—but he looked out of place in them. No, Sherlock was clearly not a peasant, regardless of how he was dressed at the moment.

John sat down across from Sherlock and waited until his companion did the same. “I just wanted to see you again,” he admitted. “You’re sort of brilliant.” At Sherlock’s indignant look, John laughed and amended, “Fine, you’re completely brilliant. Happy now?”

To his immense surprise, Sherlock actually smiled at that. It was small and fleeting, but John was able to recognise it for what it was. “Yes, as a matter of fact,” Sherlock said. “At least I know you’re intelligent enough to pick up on that. You might not be entirely dull after all.” The ego on this kid was astounding, but for some reason, John thought it was rather charming. Plus, there was something in Sherlock’s eyes that made it clear just how pleased he was at the compliment.

John’s grin widened. “Might not be entirely dull. Right, thanks for that. You know, your people skills could use a bit of work.”

Sherlock grimaced. “Well, you’ll forgive me for that. I’ve only had contact with one person for the last fifteen years or so. That doesn’t exactly help one’s social skills.”

John leaned back and tried to maintain a casual pose. “You said yesterday that you live with someone—with a woman—and that she’s the only person you’ve encountered recently. Is she your mother?”

Sherlock regarded him suspiciously, as seemed to be his habit when his personal life was inquired after. “No,” was his short reply.

John couldn’t quite stop himself from trying to get a proper answer. He was being nosy, he knew, but he was a bit too curious about Sherlock. “Your girlfriend, then? Or your wife?” Sherlock looked rather young—about eighteen, if John had to guess—but he had heard of people marrying younger than that. John chose not to investigate why he was so disappointed at the thought of Sherlock being committed to someone else.

Much to his surprise, though, Sherlock seemed rather disgusted at the thought as well. “Oh, God, no.” He shook his head vehemently. “No, no, definitely not.” A shudder worked its way through his body—a rather attractive sight, that. “She’s just my caretaker,” Sherlock explained. “She’s been with me since I was a child.” He stared at John quite suddenly, his eyes hard and intense. He seemed to be searching John for something, and eventually, judging by the way he nodded and relaxed, he seemed to find whatever it was that he had been looking for. “When I was very young, someone threatened me. It must have been quite serious. My caretaker was charged with keeping me safe until the threat had passed. From my estimate, I’ve been living with her out here for fifteen or sixteen years.”

John was utterly enthralled. He had known that Sherlock was interesting. He just hadn’t anticipated just how interesting he would end up being. “Did you ever consider that maybe this caretaker of yours kidnapped you?” He was sure that Sherlock would get defensive at the question, and John certainly wouldn’t blame him. Still, he found himself wanting to help solve the mystery of Sherlock’s past in whatever way he could.

Sherlock didn’t seem perturbed by the question at all, in fact. “The thought had crossed my mind, but I don’t think that’s likely. There would be no purpose in her kidnapping me. If she wanted money, sixteen years is more than enough time to get it. If she wanted to kill me, she would have done so long ago. If she was deranged in any way, I’m sure I would have noticed. She doesn’t even want to act as my mother. No, I think she’s being honest about all of this.”

John was amazed at the ease with which Sherlock came to these conclusions. It was remarkable, that talent. Sherlock himself didn’t seem to think anything of it. When they had first met, Sherlock had been confused when John had asked him to explain his deductions. It seemed as though he didn’t know how extraordinary he really was. John couldn’t quite stop himself from trying to fix that. “Incredible.” At Sherlock’s shocked look, John grinned at him and said, “Really, that’s amazing.”

Sherlock’s expression changed from surprised confusion to ill-contained pride. It was clear that he was preening under the attention, but evidently he didn’t want to show it. “Yes, well, it’s rather simple, actually.”

John noticed that Sherlock sounded awkward when presented with compliments. It was endearing. “You may think it’s simple,” John said, “but I can assure you that no one else—no one ordinary—would have been able to figure that stuff out the way you did.”

Sherlock cleared his throat and studied a weed growing by his hand. That awkwardness was becoming more prominent.

As cute as it was, John decided to give the kid a break. “You said you’d been out here for fifteen or sixteen years. Does that mean you were taken when you were only two?” He wanted to see if his own bit of deduction about Sherlock’s age was in any way accurate.

Judging by the look Sherlock gave him, John was rather off the mark on that one. “I was taken when I was five or six,” he said. “I’ll be twenty-one soon. I’m not that much younger than you.”

John found it difficult to contain his surprise. “Sorry, it’s just—well, you look like a kid.” He worried that Sherlock might get offended, so he hastily added, “Not that that’s a bad thing, of course.” He hated how flustered he sounded. Sherlock merely smirked, clearly delighting in John’s embarrassment. Time for another change of subject, then, John decided. “What were you doing out here yesterday?” he asked.

Sherlock lit up at the question, apparently eager to share this with someone else. “I was looking for samples for an experiment I’m conducting. I took leaves from three different plants and compared how they responded to extreme conditions. From the results, I was able to determine the effects of location and external conditions on the way plants adapt.”

John didn’t follow any of that, but Sherlock seemed excited about it, so he smiled and nodded along anyway. “Sounds fascinating.”

Sherlock was clever, though, and his expression soon dimmed. “You weren’t paying attention to any of that,” he said matter-of-factly.

John didn’t like the way that beautiful face suddenly seemed a bit more closed off. “Of course I was paying attention. It just went over my head, is all. I meant what I said, though: it sounds really interesting, even if I don’t know what any of that means.”

Sherlock seemed to relax at that. His smile turned smug, and it was ridiculous how well that expression suited him.

“Can I see you again tomorrow?” John asked quite suddenly. He was fascinated by Sherlock, enthralled, and he didn’t want to give this up.

Sherlock regarded him warily once more. He apparently didn’t trust anyone who wanted to get close to him. John was a bit worried that Sherlock’s suspicion of strangers would prevent them from seeing one another again. He was relieved when Sherlock didn’t reject the idea right away. “Why?” Sherlock demanded, his eyes narrowed.

John shrugged, trying to keep his expression as open and honest as possible. “I just want to. Might be fun.”

That was apparently the wrong thing to say, because Sherlock was pushing himself up and brushing the dirt off his trousers. “I have to get back. My caretaker will be returning soon, and she’ll throw a fit if I’m not at the cottage when she gets there.” He didn’t look at John, instead keeping himself busy with getting his things in order. Without so much as a glance back, Sherlock walked past John, clearly intent on getting back home.

John was on his feet in an instant. He caught up with Sherlock and grabbed his wrist, effectively halting him. “Wait. Just answer me this: will you come to see me again tomorrow?”

Sherlock stared down at John’s hand. “I’ll see what I can do.” He slipped himself free from John’s grasp and said, “Meet me here tomorrow, same time. Don’t be late.” And with that, he slipped beyond a thicket of trees and vanished from sight.

John didn’t care that he had effectively been dismissed. There was something about Sherlock, and John intended to explore that to the best of his ability. Even if Sherlock was being touchy about confirming it, John knew that they had another date set up tomorrow, another opportunity for him to spend time with this extraordinary boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading!


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